


Puppet On A String

by trancer



Category: Battlestar Galactica (2003)
Genre: Alternate Universe, F/F, Femslash, Plot What Plot
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2006-05-01
Updated: 2006-05-01
Packaged: 2017-10-18 02:54:06
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,599
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/184230
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/trancer/pseuds/trancer
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>AU where Cain didn‘t die during Resurrection Ship pt. 2. This is a combination of the prompts "Cain, conflicting loyalties, weakness", "Roslin, part of the missing year on New Caprica, Kara watching Roslin teach, and what the hell do they do with their time"?</p>
            </blockquote>





	Puppet On A String

"Do you believe in the Gods?"

Kara sat down on the edge of the bed, shoving a foot then the other into her boots, tying the laces haphazardly. She'd attempted to maintain some semblance of professionalism in her appearance. But, it was hard, with the continuously empty corridors and bag of bones skeleton crew. And today, of all days, the little time she had remaining on the Pegasus wouldn't be spent on the upkeep of her appearance. Not that the Admiral cared, at least, not at the moment. She still lay on the bed, sheets barely covering skin dotted with drying sweat. One hand tucked behind her head while the other casually brought one of Kara's last cigars to her lips.

Kara turned her head just enough to see the still hungry gaze in the Admiral's eyes, the carnal smirk on her lips. "Well?"

"Yes," Helena licked the corner of her mouth before taking another puff, blowing the smoke lazily into the air before speaking. "Does that surprise you?"

Kara rose from the bed, buttoning her jacket. "As a matter of fact, yes."

"Don't get me wrong. I don't believe like most do,” she exhaled languidly. Watched the cloud of smoke dissipate before continuing. “I don't think of the Gods as all powerful beings ready to swoop in and save us from our sins if we pray hard enough. I believe the Gods were real. But they were nothing more than humans, like you or I. Humans whose tales turned to legend, to myth and finally religion. I believe we can learn from them, but I don't believe they can save us."

"Huh," she stepped towards the dresser. Picked up her gold band, sliding it onto her ring finger. Clasped and unclasped her hand, getting used to the feel of it again. She never wore it when she was on duty. Never stopped to ask why even though the answer was still lying on the bed smoking one of her last cigars.

"Do you believe in the Gods?" Helena asked.

She turned to face the Admiral, "Yes."

"Why?"

"I," her voice trailed off. "I have to go."

"Wait," the bedroom voice gone, replaced with the authoritative tone Kara knew all too well. "I need you to do me a favor?"

"Favor or an order?"

Helena cocked an eyebrow, taking another puff from the cigar. "Open the right top drawer." She waited until Kara did as instructed. "One's for you and your husband. The other," she paused again, making certain she had Kara's attention before speaking. "I need you to deliver for me."

"To who?"

**

It was cold. Then again, it was always cold on New Caprica City. The kind of cold that got down in your bones, set up camp and never wanted to leave.

Kara stepped off the cargo transport. Pulled herself deeper into her coat, shoving her hands into her pockets as warm hands would ward off the ever-increasing shivers. The air was damp and smelled of seawater, burning wood, unrefined ore and mud. It wasn't pleasant. Just like New Caprica City.

She stood on the exit ramp and waited as the other passengers stepped off the transport. Her eyes scanned the crowd. 30,000 people and it felt like more because, on New Caprica City, everything had been built too close together. An entire planet to colonize, well, technically half a planet to colonize since the other side never saw the sun and who would want to live there? Half a planet and the colonists jammed themselves together in one tiny bowl, as if afraid to spread themselves too thin, to fool themselves into thinking their world hadn't really ended. And their new one wasn’t quite adequate enough.

The minutes ticked by and she stood on the sidelines people watching. Watched couples share the warmth of kisses and hugs. Watched friends shake hands and friendly embraces. Wondered why she wasn't one of the ones being kissed, hugged, loved, instead of standing on the tarmac watching other people do what she wanted.

Anders hadn't come.

It made her feel lonely, and angry, and pissed off at the world because she should be the one feeling a kiss that lasted too long and not long enough, having strong arms wrapping around her and warming her shivers away.

Her thumb surreptitiously rubbed against the gold band circling her ring finger. Six months later and instead of feeling lighter, a part of her being, the ring kept getting heavier and tighter.

She trudged through the forever muddy streets. Her mood picking up slightly thinking about making Anders clean her boots because he wasn't there to carry her home.

The turn of a corner and Starbuck found herself standing in front of the school. Could hear the children inside, a cacophony of playful and animated voices. She stepped around the back. Quietly entered through the rear flap, sitting down in a chair three sizes too small. Like everything else in New Caprica City, it was uncomfortable, and cold but, for some reason, Starbuck didn't seem to mind. The room seemed uplifting, in direct contrast to the dour, oppressive atmosphere outside the thin cloth walls.

But who could be unhappy with Laura Roslin as a teacher? She sat on a stool in front of the class, bundled in a large cable-knit sweater and coal-grey slacks. A book in her lap, one of the Old Man's, the words poured from her lips as entrancing as a siren to a water logged sailor.

She’d read it to Kara one late night. She snuggled against the woman, head on her breast, Laura’s hand gently threading through her hair as the other held open the book. A tale of Artemis, the Great Hunt, and the Arrow of Apollo.

**

"Hello, Kara," Roslin smiled in that way of hers that made Starbuck feel appreciative and guilty at the same time.

"Hey," Kara returned. Her eyes glanced about the interior of the tent. "I thought you were supposed to get an actual building?"

"I was supposed to get a lot of things," she paused, the ever present smile still on her face. "Is there something I can do for you, Kara?"

"I," she stammered slightly. She wanted more time. "Would you like a drink?"

"Only if you're buying."

"Of course," Kara lifted the duffel bag slung over her shoulder, setting it on the desk. She pulled out the larger package. It was a gift box, a bottle of Ambrosia and two glasses. She set them both on the desktop, filling each before taking a seat across from Laura.

"Where'd you get this?" Laura took a tiny sip, tongue sliding across her lips. Lips Kara reminisced kissing. The warm breath and soft sighs exhaled from them.

"A belated wedding present."

"How is Samuel?"

"He's cheating on me," glass clasped loosely between both hands, a finger subconsciously running over the gold band. "Some Pyramid groupie that works at the bar." She took a sip from her drink. "He thinks I don't know. He's not very good at hiding things."

"I'm sorry."

"How’s Maya?" Kara asked, unable to hide the tinge of venom in her voice. She was supposed to be Maya. She'd _been_ Maya. Felt Laura's body arch into hers, her name on her lips, her sweat on her skin, her taste on her tongue. But, that had been a lifetime ago. Now, all she had were consequences of choices that had seemed right at the time. Choices that had taken her as far from Laura as possible.

"Have you spoken to Bill?"

Kara. Bill. Samuel. She no longer spoke with the formalities of her former title. She was a civilian now.

“Growing a mustache. It looks like crap.”

Laura chuckled, lips pursed together to keep from spitting her drink. Kara smiled back all hungry and wanting, thoughts of licking the Ambrosia from Laura’s mouth filling her head.

Laura lifted an eyebrow. Eyes squinting as the smile still played on her lips. “That wouldn’t be a very good idea.”

“It was once.”

“Yes,” she downed the remainder of her glass and handed it back to Kara. “A long time ago.”

Kara grimaced at the slight. Laura had meant everything to her. Once. And she’d been, if not everything, at least somewhere in Laura’s life. Lover. Friend. Champion. Now, she’d become.. less. More than a friend but not quite the everything she else she once encompassed. Less.

Placing the cork back onto the bottle, Kara returned it and the glasses to their box. She pulled the other package stowed away in her duffel bag. “This is for you.”

Laura placed it on the table, palms flat over the top of it.

“Aren’t you going to open it?”

“Not now,” Laura smiled. She rose from her seat, stowing the box in a bag and slinging the strap over her shoulder.

“What’s going on?”

“It’s been a pleasure to see you again, Kara,” the placating smile still on her lips. The unspoken words of dismissal. She’d been that important once but not any more.

**

THREE WEEKS LATER

She thrust her hips harder, faster, pushing Helena’s fingers deeper inside her with every bed-shaking thrust. Hands clenching the sheets in knuckle white fists. Eyes snapped shut, desperately trying _not_ to imagine someone else’s fingers inside her, pressed against _that_ spot, making her moan and keel. Body convulsing until her entire being trembled and shook, finally collapsing bonelessly atop Helena.

“Someone’s in a mood,” Helena chuckled, rolling the two over. Playfully making Kara shudder as she withdrew.

“I’m bored,” she threw an arm over her face. “There’s nothing to do anymore. Three nuggets washed out this week. And the rest don’t look too far behind. I‘m tired of yelling at nuggets, whipping their asses in training drills, and staring at paper work. I just..”

“You want another assignment?”

Kara pulled the arm up off her eyes. Stared back at Helena, “I wanna know what was in that box you gave to Laura Roslin?”

Helena’s face darkened, really darkened. Darkened with an expression Kara hadn’t seen since before the Colonization. Tossed the covers off angrily before standing and haphazardly pulling on her robe.

“You’re not ready,” she paused cocking an eyebrow. “Because if I told you what’s in that box you’d have to choose. And you're still not very good at making choices.”

“You want to know why I believe in the Gods? I tried believing in people. But, some where along the way, I fail them or they fail me. My parents, Zak, Bill, Lee, Laura, Sam, you. The Gods? They’re always there. They might not answer. They might even fail me but, they don’t judge me, they don’t..” she paused, tongue flicking across her lips, straining to get the words out. All the choices, the bad memories that came with them flickering across her brain like a disjointed picture show. A picture show of nothing but pain and anguish and torment. “They don’t hurt me. I’ve made some bad choices in my life but know this, when it comes to choosing between the Gods and Humanity, I’ll choose the Gods every single time.”

“Fine, you want to know what was in the box?” The corner of her mouth pulled upwards into a sneer. “A coup.”

Kara watched Helena disappear into the bathroom. Lay motionless, stunned and speechless, gazing blankly at the closed door.

**

Kara stood on the edge of the tent. Listened to the faint sounds of Laura and Maya, sounds of hushed voices, the softest of giggles. Let her imagination torture her by filling in the blanks. Kara feigned a cough. Quiet enough not to be heard by prying ears, loud enough to disrupt whatever was going on inside Laura Roslin’s tent.

The flap opened, Maya’s countenance changing from surprise to suppressed anger. “Come in.”

Kara had never been inside Laura’s tent. She’d been allotted one of the larger cabin style’s, a perk of her former position. There was a small table still plated with the remains of their evening meal, an overloaded bookshelf tucked in a corner, makeshift stove, and a bed. A very large bed, with thick downy covers, where Isis lay face up in a sea of pillows.

Laura rose from her perch on the bed, closing the thick, wooly sweater around her. “You’re late.” She stated matter-of-factly.

“I was careful,” Kara replied back. She noted the furtive glance at her appearance. Gone was the military uniform she’d worn for most of her adult life, replaced with civilian hand-me-downs. Hair, now way past her shoulders and in dire need of a brush. It had been this way for months. Had to be. The illusion of normalcy. Kara hated it. Hated the part-time job slinging drinks to people disillusioned with the life _they_ chose, but still just delusional to believe things could still get better. All so she could do what needed to be done. What _she_ wanted done. Because Kara was too weak to say no to whatever Laura wanted.

Kara missed being in a cockpit, missed the smell of the Mess Hall, the feel of a Viper, the comfort of the Admiral’s bed, even when she dreamt of kisses from another. Life on Pegasus had become trifling. But, life on New Caprica was trifling, boring AND hard. Kara had no interest in hydroponics, or mining, or smelting, or, Hell, tending bar. Had no other skills outside killing people and that skill had no use on New Caprica.

Until now.

She’d chosen New Caprica. She’d chosen Laura. Revolutions were never easy, or bloodless. While Cain was willing to get her hands dirty, with this, she didn’t want the blood to show. It would be a hard pill for the Colonists to swallow. Easier if the pill didn’t appear to come from the people with the big guns and even bigger ships.

Following Laura’s lead, Kara took a seat across from her at the tiny table. Maya flitted about them, clearing the plates.

“Would you like something to drink?” Maya asked, her voice deceptively cheery. Whether or not Laura told Maya about their shared past, Kara did not know. All she knew was Maya didn’t like her, and the feeling was mutual.

“No, I’m fine,” she turned her eyes towards Laura. I can‘t stay long. Sam’s got the flu and,” she traced the ring around her finger with her thumb. “Apparently, grown men turn into big, giant babies when they’re sick.”

“Indeed,” Laura chuckled softly. Let the moment of brief humor ride itself out before she reached down by her ankles, pulling up a small box and setting it on the table. “Would you like some soup? For Samuel?”

“Sure,” Kara opened the box. Eyes quickly scanned the contents. It would be quick and painless. More than the duplicitous worm of a man currently called President deserved. She quietly closed the box, meeting Laura’s gaze. “Sam definitely needs a break from my cooking.”

They conversed for several more minutes. The conversation kept light, maintained the ruse. Eventually, Kara rose from the table, Laura following, saying their goodbyes. Before she opened the flap, Laura embraced Kara. And Kara felt the old sensations return, the shivers and trembles and hopes, dreams, wishes for more, Laura always elicited from Kara’s body, even when she wasn’t trying.

“You don’t have to do this,” Laura held Kara close, whispered into her ear. “You’re not a puppet on a string.”

“No,” Kara pulled away. Just enough to stare into Laura’s eyes. She kissed her lightly on the lips. To Hell with Maya. “Just an instrument of the Gods.”

END


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